With Great Power: The Gathering
by Tork
Summary: An unknown enemy begins bringing together a collection of Spider-Man's foes to strike against his enemies, including a certain web-head...


Previously on Spider-Man: With Great Power…

As Peter Parker, aka the Amazing Spider-Man, is preparing for his oncoming fatherhood, the forces of darkness look to enclose around him in what should be the happiest time of his life right now. Seeking retribution against the superhero's rejection of his devilish deal, Mephisto has attempted to part the Web-Slinger and his loving wife by any means, in life or death. Though the enchantments of Dr. Strange and Loki protect the two from direct attacks, the demon still moves to enact plans around the spells, keeping Peter ever alert of what the Dark Lord might plan next.

In the physical realm, Norman Osborn also seeks to bring the superhero down, initiating various attacks, framings, and mind games upon the Avenger. A trip to Thunderbolts Mountain itself didn't even discourage the former Green Goblin from going on with a plant to play on the guilt of the wall-crawler involving the son of Dennis Carradine, the man who killed Uncle Ben.

However, another enemy has been playing behind the scenes and is soon to reveal himself as his new plan of retribution against those has vowed vengeance against comes to fruition…

Two months ago…

Cold air and black space fill the night sky as a weathered old man and a pathetic young man were marched out of a sterile concrete building into a big, square van painted as black as the celestial darkness above. Arm braces and leg cuffs adorned both. The authorities were taking no chances.

The younger looked ahead to the older and raised a small grin. "You look like Hell, Toomes." 

Adrian Toomes, aka the Vulture, turned to face Max Dillion, who often went by the name "Electro". His face was still scratched and bruised from Spider-Man's vicious attack weeks before. He looked like a man whose face had been taken a trip in a garbage disposal.

"Shut, Maxwell. I don't need your crap right now."

"Looks like Spider-Man did a number on you, Toomes."

"Oh, really? You'd think I'd be aware of my face being broken down and ripped apart by some self-righteous brute who thinks he's better than the law. I mean, I was there the whole time. Thanks for the in no way useless and annoying pointers there, Captain Obvious."

"Hey, I fought him, too, right? My face doesn't look like an overripe peach. You must have made him really angry, old bird."

"Leave me alone, you idiot."

"Quiet!" the guard yelled, "Into the van, you two!"

Entering the van cages in the middle of the big empty space inside, both knelt down as the leg clamps pinched around the two captured villains' legs and their arm braces magnetized to the floor.

"Don't try anything funny…" one of the four Cape-Killers inside said with a hint of humor, "… you don't want to end up like Mark Raxton, right?"

The van came to life and rolled out of the parking structure of the compound, headed for a ship to take the two criminals to the 42 in the Negative Zone. There, they'd spend the rest of their natural born lives behind bars until they withered and died.

All the two could collectively think about the reason they would never breathe free air again: Spider-Man. It was Spider-Man who had beaten them weeks before. It was Spider-Man who stopped them. It was all his fault. It was a shame that pompous jokester wouldn't be getting what was coming to him. If only they could make the little snot pay…

Their train of thought was interrupted by the van's blaring horn. "GET OFF THE ROAD!" screamed the driver from behind the Plexiglas divider in front. Vulture could lift his head just enough to see a white man, mid-twenties with brown hair and black overcoat with matching pants. "What the heck does this idiot think he's trying to pull he—"

With a flick of a button on a small gray remote by the mysterious man, a large beep could be heard from below the van that preceded a large fireball that split the van in two. Dillon could see the driver and the Cape-Killer riding shotgun incinerated twenty feet ahead as the front half of the van screeched sharply to the left and slammed into a warehouse, causing another mushroom cloud of fire and smoke to flare up into the black sky. 

The other half twisted and swung around wildly before swinging onto its side and slowly coming to a halt. The Cape-Killers cocked their rifles, ready to defend their position when a sharp hypersonic pitch filled the van. The Cape-Killers immediately keeled over in pain as the black coated man enter the gaping hole of the halved van and drew a ebony-gloved finger and sent a stream of electricity through the men, watching as the government agents dropped like flies.

Moving towards the center of the wreck where Electro and the Vulture hung, still connected to the floor by their leg restraints. Revealing a large set of bolt cutter, the stranger cut open the doors and released the two criminals.

"Adrian Toomes. Maxwell Dillon. You are currently pending incarceration in the 42 Prison in the Negative Zone for crimes against America. This is unacceptable to my plans. Therefore, I've managed an early parole for the two of you. As of this moment, you two are in the employment of yours truly."

"What are you talking about?" Toomes objected, " You nearly get us killed and then you expect us to just go with you? Are you crazy?"

"Sanity is a subjective concept. And currently, we only half a mile from the compound you just left, meaning if you expect to stay away from pig vomit as a daily food choice and soap on a rope as a 

godsend, I'd suggest you'd take up my offer at some point in the next half a minute before they find you here still hanging like a pathetic Christmas ornament."

"Ok, point." Electro consented, "But why exactly should we trust you here?"

"Did I mention you get to kill Spider-Man?"

All other words were moot by this point.

A month ago…

"Oh, come on, it's left, dodge, parry, thrust, something, and then you bend your beak in half. You're messing with the classics, dude. YOU DON'T MESS WITH THE CLASSICS!"

Two roofs away, Spider-Man, donned in red and golden armor was in battle with a sword-swinging Chameleon. The Vulture, Electro, and their mystery employer were hidden away, waiting a moment to strike.

"It's him, " Electro pointed out, "definitely him."

"God, the bad jokes…" Vulture said in an exasperated voice as he crouched down behind a brick wall overlooking the battle, "… I can take the punches, the kicks, the webs to the face, and even that new stinger thing he's got going… but the bad jokes… I'd sell my soul just to end the stupid jokes."

Electro had to respond back. "Oh, come on, Toomes. They're not THAT bad."

"Yes… yes they are."

"Oh, please. I actually think they're kind of funny."

"No. Groucho Marx is funny. Scrubs is funny. The look on that pathetic idiot's face after what we'll do to him is going to be funny. His jokes? His jokes are never funny. His jokes are the opposite of funny. They're Bizarro funny."

"Please…" their boss asked, "I'm paying you ridiculous amounts of money to do what you'd be willing to pull off for free. Do be kind and please shut up."

"So… who's up for a midnight run to Jack in the Box?" Spider-Man told one of the other "Scarlet Spiders" present. Using sensitive hearing technology, the stranger could tell Spider-Man and the other would depart soon enough, leaving only the last who had just removed her mask to reveal the Black Widow, Natasha Romanov, easy prey for what'll happen next.

"Removing the bulletproof armor around your head… that was a mistake." the Stranger said quietly to himself. As the other two in red and gold Spider-Armor dropped down to work out their own issues, Natasha pulled a radio from a downed agent and moved her finger towards the button before a tranquillizer from two roofs struck her the back of the neck. She saw blurs and circles before passing out.

"She's down." the man said, grasping the rifle still and adorned in a black skintight Kevlar suit with grey belt and pocketed straps encircling from the shoulders to the waist, "Let's go."

As Electro uses his power to propel himself to the target tower roof, the Vulture held his employer as he flew to the roof. As they dropped down on the intended destination, the strange man quickly slipped on a black mask for fear of any agents coming awake and being capable of IDing him.

The Vulture stood as watchmen, making sure the convoy that was sure to arrive wouldn't catch the three by surprise before their work was finished.

Electro stood in the middle of the roof with arms stretched open and fingers tense in preparation. A mass of electricity surged from his palms and formed an EMP wave that blew out the agents' armor and radios, hoping the loss in communication would stall the cavalry from learning the truth for a while. 

As agents began to come to, the black-suited man went for his rifle again and took aim. A stream of darts filled the air and lodged into the soldiers' bodies, insuring another ten minutes or so of no interruption. He wasn't against killing to achieve his goals, as he did with the two burnt victims a month before, but if it could be avoided, these men had nothing to do anything.

An agent unnoticed ran from behind the strange man to attack him when the man in black answered with a swift spinning kick to the jaw. The agent flew back, dazed yet undeterred, and pulled his momentum forward into a direct jab headed towards the chest. 

The man reacted with a speed that would make the late Steve Rogers impressed. Grabbing the agent by the fist and wrist, he twisted his opponent's hand sharply to the left, far more left than the human hand was ever designed to go. The sound of breaking bone and snapping tendon was only drowned out by the sharp scream of the victim. 

Then, the man demonstrated his left hand's continuing health by moving it to the agent's elbow and pushing it stiff, forcing the agent's body to move with it and turn away from the man. In one motion, the man then removed his right arm from the agent's broken wrist and removed the helmet before grabbing the pistol still strapped to his person and fired a dart direct into the back of the agent's head.

Electro stood in shock and awe. "Who… are you?"

The man gave a stern look towards his employee. He'd tell them who he was soon enough, but now was neither the time nor place for an autobiography.

Making their way to Dmitri Smerdyakov, the three encircled the downed assassin like a group of doctors observing a sick patient.

"Are you sure you want this guy, boss?" Electro asked. "He doesn't have exactly the greatest of reputation in our field right about now. I heard Parker's wife downed him with a bat and his aunt took him out with cookies."

"True or not, he's a shape-shifter with a wealth of knowledge from Soviet assassination schools and that might very come in handy when we need to infiltrate."

The pale, faceless man came to and looked upon the trio of villains that stood over him. "Wh-what do you guys want?"

"Mr. Smerdyakov, I have a proposition for you…"

Two weeks ago…

The warm Caribbean sun on Roderick Kingsley's face felt good and right. He sat there at the side of an extravagant resort, overpriced drink in his hand and the cool breeze blowing just overhead. There was nowhere else he'd rather be. 

He could just barely see his reflection across the pool in the reflective glass wall he was facing towards… and he liked what he saw. It was amazing how much plastic surgery has improved given you have the sufficient bank account. He could barely recognize him. He looked younger by about 15 or 20 years. His black hair and newly youthful, chiseled face was a quite a hit with the ladies, of course. The Goblin serum took care of the rest, giving Kingsley a body of peak health and worthy of a calendar devoted to it. 

Nobody would be able to pinpoint this handsome young millionaire was Roderick Kingsley, the former hitman and criminal know as the Hobgoblin. As far as the world was concerned, the Hobgoblin was as good as dead. And Roderick planned to keep it that way.

That quaint idea was soon shattered by the oncoming shadow that blocked the sun momentarily before it owner shifted to the left and plopped right down the chair next to Roderick. It was a man of brown hair with a tinge of red and similarly muscular physique donned in a black set of swimming trunks, grey tank top, and fashionable sunglasses.

The man once called Hobgoblin was not amused. "I do imagine there are several empty chairs along this pool that you could sit by without blocking a chance of a nice young woman to sit and gaze at my good side. I'm afraid I don't play for THAT team, young man. Run along."

"Funny." The man answered. "Of course, that'd mean I'd have to yell my business with you for the entire world to hear… and neither of us want that, Mr. Kingsley."

Roderick was shocked but he was certain not to show it. "Whatever your business, I can almost assure you I'm not interested."

"I wish to employ your services, Mr. Kingsley to take out Spider-Man."

"Yeah, I figured and I'm still not interested."

"I can pay you handsomely."

"I can very much not care. I'm independently wealthy and I just got a new face. I'm not going to ruin my anonymity for something I already have in droves."

"I need a man like you to do what I need. I have men of power and men of ruthlessness… but they lack professionalism and a clear head. I need someone cold and not prone to emotion in the field."

"Where's your sense of adventure?"

"Where I left my third broken nose and my shattered company that sadistic prick Norman Osborn took from me. I've learned my lesson. I'm not about to risk what I got here for the bug."

"What about Norman Osborn?"

Kingsley's interest was piqued. "What about him?"

"What are your thoughts on Norman Osborn?"

"What does it mean to you?"

"Well, the man DID ruin you, humiliate you, beat you at your own game, and tore down nearly everything you worked your whole life for. What if I told you we were going to kill him?"

A few seconds passed.

"Alright, sir. Keep talking."

A week ago…

The shadows dancing on the dark walls played with the minds of Caroline Trainer and the criminal only know as Delilah. Both were anxious to shake the man who had been chasing them, Matt Murdock aka Daredevil. Having raided a Tricorp plant together, the duo managed to shake all the cops and Cape-Killers, but was foolish enough to stumble into Hell's Kitchen and catch the attention of the Man Without Fear.

"Do you lost we lost him?" Caroline (also known by the moniker "Lady Octopus") said looking to the left and right.

"Doubt it." said a voice from above.

A red blur of fury came crashing down upon the two villains like fire from Heaven. Too quick for either, Daredevil managed to flip his downward descending body into a rolling kick which managed to connect with Delilah's jaw, sending her into the nearby dumpster's wall.

Sensing the rushing metal oncoming, Daredevil swiftly jumped into a backwards flip as Lady Octopus's offending tentacle came crashing into the splintering brick and mortar. 

Pulling out his billy club, Daredevil flung his line over the other three tentacles. Reaching the ground, Murdock made a quick spin that sent Lady Octopus slamming into the now, chipped and broken wall as well. She slid onto the groud, barely conscious and incapable to fight on anymore.

Daredevil stood over his downed opponent. "A point of advice… next time you plan to break the law, stay out of Hell's Kitchen. You step in my turf, you deal with my justice, plain and simple."

"To Hell with your 'justice', you fascist!" Delilah screamed as she stood ready for yet another attack.

The cybernetic assassin charged with swords ready but Daredevil deftly bobbed and weaved as the wild slashes rang out in his ears. Sending an open palmed jab to her stomach, Daredevil then grabbed his club and slammed it across her face. 

Delilah could taste the blood in her mouth and didn't like it. She hadn't faced an opponent like since Spider-Man a few years back. She was getting sloppy and soft and now it was going to cost her.

However, salvation by a small plop that echoed behind the blind superhero's back. Murdock could barely turn when flame and force blasted behind him and sent him falling forwards to the ground, dropping Delilah in the process.

Daredevil turned to see a orange and blue-dressed man riding a bat-shaped glider. It was the Hobgoblin, sent to collect the two villains.

Daredevil turned to face his foe as lightning and thunder rocketed from the sky upon the Scarlet Swashbuckler. Daredevil could hardly bring himself to say "Electro…" before passing out.

The green and yellow villain dropped down to observe the three grounded fighters as Hobgoblin barked his orders. "Call Vulture. Get him down here. We got them."

Delilah looked up to see the frightening yellow demonic mask staring down on her. 

"Greetings, ma'am" Kingsley said with a certain humor in his voice. "You've just been drafted into the battle of the century."

Today…

The mid-afternoon sun was getting hot and sweaty. It wasn't a pleasant day to do much of anything, much less attempt a robbery downtown in rush hour.

"Oh, you are sooooo paying for that mailbox! I'm totally telling the teacher you so did it!"

The Rhino was getting tired of Spider-Man's snarky quips. "SHUT UP!" He yelled as flung the said mailbox in Spider-Man direction. The wall-crawler spun and turned as the mailbox whizzed past. However, he couldn't react in time as his Spider-Sense informed him too late of the upcoming charge of the Rhino.

The two smashed into a nearby car, ripping it in half as the driver made a run for it on foot. As dozens of New Yorkers did likewise in the other cars, the Rhino persisted in punching Spider-Man's face until it was mush and ooze.

"Not so funny, now, eh? I'm gonna bash that smile into the next decade!" Rhino gloated as his fists into the downed hero's face.

"But… I… need… that… smile…" Spider-Man said through his torn and tattered mask between the hits of the big grey behemoth, "it… helps… get …out… of… parking… tickets."

"I said SHUT UP!" the Rhino snarled. "I am so tired of your— ARGHHH!"

The Rhino's rant was cut short by web shot right to his eyes.

Panic crept in as the blinded monster started to fling his arms in all directions. Spider-Man lept from the scrap of metal and glass as the Rhino proceeded to destroy the car. Finally, ripping the webs from his eyes, the Rhino's newly returned sight caught the image of red blur as Spider-Man's feet came flying towards his face. 

The Rhino came stumbling into a nearby alleyway and tripped over his feet before landing on the cold hard asphalt with a rumble and a crash. 

The Rhino staggered to his feet as Spider-Man came swinging in. The dope made a swing and miss, another and another before Spider-Man kicked him across the face and flipped backwards towards the wall.

The Rhino made one last charge which poved to be all for naught as Spider-Man pulled himself upward and the Rhino's head crashed through the wall.

Moments came by as the Rhino attempted to pull his head, succeeding only in time to have Spider-Man push a nearby blue dumpster into the big, dumb giant's body, smashing him into the wall. Peter then pulled back and slammed again. And again. And again until the force caused the wall to collapse upon the monstrous idiot and knock him unconscious.

Exhaustion crept in as Spider-Man laid across the dumpster and tried to catch his breath. "I swear I really need a vacation. I mean, I'd give anything for a nice month-long nap."

"You can sleep all you want when you're dead."

Spider-Man's Spider-Sense forced him to turn but still too late as a large metal pole was sent flying into Parker's face.

The attack was followed by a black blurry kick from seemingly nowhere. Spider-Man has totally exhausted, having been fighting the Rhino in the blistering sun for what must have been an hour straight. His reserves were gone. He tried to fight back but his black suited opponent was too quick and too prepared. A flurry of punches and kicks ran through Spider-Man's nervous system before the stranger finally decided to yield.

"I could kill you, right here, right now. I could squash you like the little spider you are, but that would be a hollow victory. Mark my words, though: You will die. You will die very soon. And you will die very unpleasantly. You are going to pay for every last one of your sins. You and the one who joins with you as you ruin innocent lives and don't care who gets caught in the crossfire. Trust me… when we meet next, death will come very slowly for you."

"W-wh-who…" Peter managed to hazily state, "who are you."

"I'm your sins made flesh. Yours and Norman's. I'm the creation of hate and wrath that will finally end your path of death and destruction. Goodbye, Mr. Parker. I suggest you straighten your affairs with your God. You don't have much time left." 

With that, the attacker pulled out a small needle and jammed it into Spider-Man's neck, causing a haze of darkness. When he came to, Peter's assailant and the Rhino were both gone with only his parting words still present.

A mile away, a still groggy Rhino and his rescuer jumped into the back of a large semi as the driver, a certain bald and elderly man, kicked the truck on and drove off.

"Who next are we going to nab, boss?" Toomes inquisitively asked.

"Nobody. Nobody else." the great mastermind replied. "When we next go out, we show this wall-crawler the dangers of the wrath of sins."

Next Issue: We begins our first three-parter as the mystery enemy is revealed in the first chapter of Sins' Wrath. 


End file.
